Entrances and Exits
by Ganymede Rose
Summary: For Victoria Gates, it's the things that scare her that are the most worth doing.
1. Chapter 1

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 1

 _Warning: This story contains small details about changes for Castle's eighth season._

* * *

"Victoria? You got a minute?"

Bill Hastings walks into her office and sits down. As the head of Internal Affairs, he's surprisingly unorthodox, especially by the standards of NYPD. Some of his smaller quirks include calling people by their first names and immediately entering a room after he knocks.

"One second." Victoria Gates finishes reading the report before looking up at her boss. "Good morning, Bill."

He nods to her computer. "Reading the report on the Duvon shooting?"

"It's a tragedy."

"Marshall recommended closing the investigation?"

"Tragedy it may be, but the officers involved acted within the law."

"They shot a vet with a prosthetic arm."

For the first four months Gates worked with Bill, she worried whenever he questioned her decision, assumed she had missed something. Then she figured out that Bill was the type of guy who liked playing devil's advocate, especially when he agreed. He pokes and prods because he likes to make sure his people have dotted their i's and crossed their t's.

"They shot a vet with a prosthetic who ran from a crime scene, refused to stop when they requested that he stop, and knocked down an 85-year-old woman with a bum hip in his attempt to flee the scene."

Bill's expression remains passive. "Guy had on a Marine Corp hat."

"Something you can buy at hundreds of locations just in New York. In fact, if you read the report, you'll find it wasn't even an official Marine Corp hat. It was a knock off." Gates leans back. Once she figured out Bill's style, she liked working with him, liked being forced to defend her positions. "As someone who did a stint as military police in Fallujah, you would think our veteran would know the importance of stopping and doing as the police say."

"Still going to piss off the veterans' groups."

"Yes, well, I'm not sending two young officers up the creek to meaninglessly placate people who should be focusing on the multitude of actual problems facing their constituents."

Bill rubs his left hand across his mouth. "I will say this. If NYPD had to shoot a veteran, at least this case is pretty cut and dry."

Gates studies Bill. He's dragging his feet. Despite the threatened protests by veterans' groups, this case isn't controversial or high profile enough to take up this much of Bill Hastings's time. "Why you really stopping by, Bill?"

"They went with Robbins."

Gates holds his eye as she nods and forces a smile. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"You're better qualified than he is," Bill says. "But – "

"Politics are politics," Gates says with a note of finality. "He's got an uncle at 1PP and his Daddy's high up in the DA's office."

"You're no slouch yourself," Bill says with a raise of his eyebrow. "Lots of cops in your family."

"Yes, but they were beat cops. No Granddaddy who was deputy commissioner." Gates briefly taps her index finger on her desk but stops before it seems a nervous tic. "You don't survive in the NYPD as long as I have without knowing this force runs on politics, nepotism, and backroom deals."

"Still not right." Bill had been the one to push Gates to apply for the open spot at 1PP. Her not getting this position is a bit of the rejection for him too, a sign that for all his maneuvering and networking, there are bigger, savvier fish in the sea.

"Look at it this way, Bill, now you don't have to let me go."

"Actually, I do." Bill folds his hands over his ever-expanding midsection. "Remember that incident out of the 12th a few weeks back?"

It takes Gates to remember the details. "Roy Montgomery. Another tragedy. He was one of the good ones."

"You knew the guy?"

Gates inclines her head in an indifferent motion. "Not well, although we did have a date my first year on the force."

Bill chuckles. "No kidding? I'd say you know him pretty well then."

"Not at all." Gates raises her eyebrows for emphasis. "It was a blind date set up by friends who seemed to think we'd get along because we were both black police officers from similar backgrounds. Montgomery was nice enough, but the evening was awkward."

That night, Victoria hadn't pegged Roy Montgomery as someone who would rise to the rank of captain. If anything, she'd thought he'd be off the force in five years. It was a good lesson for her: being smart and intuitive doesn't always equate to being right.

"We saw each other at a handful of events over the years, nodded and exchanged a few words of small talk, introduced our respective spouses, but no, I didn't know him well." While Gates talks, her mind cycles through what Montgomery's death has to do with her. Finishing her story, an unfortunate possibility pops into her head. "No. You know I have no interest in heading up a precinct."

"It's technically a promotion," Bill says in confirmation.

Gates shakes her head. "Technically, yes, it is a promotion, but you and I both know the work we do here is much more important."

Gates likes Internal Affairs. They're the gatekeepers for the rest of the force. Heading up a precinct feels like being banished to preside over a backwater town after existing within the corridors of power.

"I think it'd be good for you," Bill drawls. Every once in a while, the dregs of his Texas upbringing surface. "I'm gonna miss having you on my team, but you'll be good at this. You and I both know the city could use more people heading up precincts with your commitment to justice and dedication to the law."

For a moment, Gates relaxes back into her chair, lets her frustration shine through. "I apply for a promotion and end up feeling like I got demoted."

"Think it over" is all Bill says before he escapes from Gates's office.

Gates watches Bill's considerable girth move down the hall. She hasn't been on the front lines in over a decade. She's used to reviewing cases. Internal Affairs, for all the similarity of skills, is a different beast than bread-and-butter police work.

And it occurs to her: she's scared. She's scared that maybe she won't be able to do the job, maybe she's been in IA long enough that she won't be able to adapt to the mad rush of a precinct and open cases and moving targets. That fear settles it for her. If it scares her, it's what she should be doing.

Captain of the 12th Precinct. It has a nice ring to it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for reading. I adore Penny Johnson Jerald and think she's given Captain Gates a lot of humanity and personality beyond what was on the page. Since it seems, at this point, that Gates is not getting an official send-off on the show, I wanted to try and give her one here. This story is complete, and I'll be posting twice a week.

As a warning, I'm borrowing the show's lax interpretation of the NYPD's regulations, ranks, and promotions.


	2. Chapter 2

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 2

* * *

Victoria Gates hates the first day in a new job. She hates everyone sizing her up, even though she sizes all of them up. She hates not knowing the internal politics and relationships, the strengths and weaknesses of both the team and its individual players. Most of all, she hates going in and living up to her nickname.

As nicknames go, Iron Gates is a pretty good one. Better than Snuggle Bear, the unfortunate nickname bestowed upon another member of her academy class. He's now a high school history teacher.

Iron Gates instills fear. Iron Gates makes the early days in a new job easier. For Victoria Gates, the first rule of assuming a leadership position is to be hard: to be tough with astronomical expectations, clear rules, and no flexibility. Also to be fair, but most people don't see that. They only see the mean.

Leaders have two options: they can start hard or they can start soft. The former requires not caring if people like you or even respect you – at first, at least – but it allows for more latitude once everyone knows the expectations. Starting soft is the easier road in the short term but creates more work in the long run. First impressions matter, and regardless of the intervening months and years, those early days set the tone.

Victoria Gates's goal for her first weeks at the 12th Precinct is to make it clear that she expects people to work hard, follow the rules, and do their best. Incompetent, corrupt officers need not apply.

Plus, if Victoria Gates has learned anything in her two plus decades with the NYPD, it's that the best way to look good is to be surrounded by the best. As a leader, the easiest way to be surrounded by the best is to start tough.

On her first day, though, she arrives late. She arrives late because she wants the bullpen full when she arrives, wants a few brief seconds to see how the people work before she swings in like a wrecking ball.

Stepping off the elevator, she takes in the scene. Stress permeates the air. Gates belatedly remembers a second note about this precinct: at Montgomery's funeral, one of the 12th's own was shot while giving the eulogy.

Gates asked around, and everyone seems to think the two incidents are unrelated. Montgomery died trying to bring in a suspect. The wounded officer was shot by a rumored anti-cop protestor who remains on the lam.

Gates isn't swayed by this version of events.

Three men stand around a white board. The board has all the signs of being a murder board. The transfer happened quickly – Gates had two days to tie up loose ends at IA and, as a result, only time to get the bare bones on the 12th Precinct – but she's almost positive the 12th doesn't have an active homicide investigation at the moment. Robbery has two open cases and a third headed to court next week, but Gates could have sworn homicide was quiet.

Quiet being a relative term, of course. Given her experience with NYPD bureaucracy, Gates knows that no active cases can sometimes mean being that much busier with paperwork. But no active cases should mean no murder boards.

Curious, she heads for the three men at the whiteboard.

"Gentlemen, good morning."

The first person Gates recognizes isn't a cop. It's Richard Castle. Her sister-in-law loves his books, wanted Gates to try and get them signed after reading some article about him working with the NYPD. Gates reminded her that the NYPD was huge, that it was highly unlikely she'd ever cross paths with the man, and now Gates realizes that this must be the precinct the writer shadows.

A shorter man – if Gates had to guess, Irish – clears his throat. "You're Victoria Gates. The new captain."

Gates nods and smiles tightly. "Yes."

"Detective Kevin Ryan. This is my partner, Javier Esposito," Detective Ryan says politely.

Gates extends a hand, and they shakes before exchanging inane pleasantries. Her initial impression of Kevin Ryan is that he's the rule follower in the partnership. Probably a former Catholic school kid, he's had it ingrained since a young age that breaking the rules ticks off God and requires a confession.

This can be both an advantage and a disadvantage with cops.

Turning to Richard Castle, Gates plays dumb. "And you are?"

"Richard Castle." The man's complexion is pasty and drawn. Gates thinks back to his book cover, how she had thought him rather handsome in the brief glance at the picture. The real-life version of him is a wan, sallow version of that bright, attractive man. Photoshop really does do wonders.

"And you're – ?"

"Castle is a civilian liaison with our homicide department. He works with Detective Beckett," Ryan says quickly.

Beckett. That's the name of the detective who was shot. Gates tamps down her continued frustration at the rapid transfer, at not having enough time to close out her IA work, let alone prepare for this position.

"Ah. Well, Mr. Castle, thank you for your service, but your skills will no longer be required." Gates has never before gone with the 'firing someone on the first day to instill fear' method of management. She's also not one to put off unpleasant tasks and sees no reason to wait on this one.

"Excuse me?" Behind the writer, both detectives scowl.

"I won't have untrained people in my precinct," Gates says.

"Captain Gates," Detective Esposito says with a drawl, "no disrespect, but Castle's an important part of our team. He's currently helping us track down who shot Detective Beckett."

This gives Gates pause. She doesn't want to back down, but pulling someone off a case involving an injured officer could hurt the precinct's transition. "How far along are you in the investigation?"

The three men remain quiet.

Gates motions with her hand. It occurs to her she still holds her briefcase. She hasn't even gone into her new office yet. "Don't feel the need to withhold information, however circumstantial. An NYPD detective was shot, and let me assure you, that's not something I take lightly."

Detectives Ryan and Esposito both shift on their feet. Castle looks – Gates isn't quite sure what to make of his expression, some mixture of anger and heartache.

"We're still working on initial leads," Ryan finally says.

"What do you have concrete?"

"Nothing." Ryan's face pulls tightly at this admission, as if he's in pain.

Esposito isn't as ready to give up. "But we still have – "

Gates holds up a hand. "How many weeks have you been working on this case?"

"Three."

"And if this were a homicide case, with no new leads for three weeks, would it still be an open investigation?"

"We don't have any active cases right now." Esposito crosses his arms.

As if summoned, his phone rings. He stares hard at Gates for a moment before answering. "Esposito."

Gates, Detective Ryan, and Castle stand quietly while Esposito jots down the information about the murder scene. Gates takes the time to glance around the bullpen. As expected, everyone is attempting to surreptitiously watch the unfolding drama with the new captain.

Esposito hangs up. "Body with no ID in an alley."

The two detectives move to their desks to gather what they need. Gates looks again to the writer and decides not to hold back. "Mr. Castle, if I didn't make myself clear enough earlier, let me do so now: my precinct's got no room for a dilettante writer playing cop in his free time."

The man's eyes widen. Again, there's an unreadable mix of emotions across his face. "But Captain – "

"My decision is non-negotiable. Good day, Mr. Castle." Gates turns to the two other men. "Detectives Ryan and Esposito, keep me posted on the new case."

With that, Gates turns on her heel and makes her way to her office. Luckily, the room is easy enough to find, helping her avoid the embarrassment of diminishing her grand exit with a search for the right door.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter, especially those who left reviews. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who is going to miss Gates. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 3

* * *

It's ten days of nonstop work before Gates has a chance to pull out the files on both Montgomery's death and Beckett's shooting. She's tired and emotionally worn. Over dinner, she snapped at her husband for overcooking the green beans.

Proving for the millionth time why she married Luther, he merely raised an eyebrow and changed the subject. He avoids arguments when she's like this. When the time is right, he'll broach the subject. And when the subject does reemerge, it will absolutely – and very fairly – include a reminder of her turning two $40 steaks into charcoal briquettes last summer after a sorority sister called.

She and Luther both have tempers, high-stress jobs, and, when frustrated, the ability to fight dirty. The first year of their marriage was less honeymoon and more nightmare, but they loved each other enough to figure out a way to make it work. Now they're pretty good at de-escalating their disagreements, at having the calmer partner keep a sane head in the heat of the moment and back off until rational thought can prevail. Granted, on those rare occasions when they're both worn down and incapable of rational thought, one of them usually ends up sleeping in the guest room. Overall, though, they're more happy than not in their decades-long entanglement, and that thought alone is sometimes enough to get Victoria to hold her tongue.

There's a knock on the doorframe. Victoria glances up. Luther holds a glass of wine with a stain of her red lipstick along the rim. "You forgot this."

Victoria extends a hand. "Thanks lover."

Luther hands her the glass. He leans close enough to look at the file in her hands as he brushes her forehead with a kiss. "Montgomery, huh? Didn't we meet him – "

"He and his wife," Gates says.

Luther snaps his fingers as he leans against her desk. "Yes. I remember her."

"You _flirted_ with her," Gates says with a teasing lilt. "Don't think I didn't notice."

Luther puts a hand over his heart. "What can I say? I have a weakness for intelligent, well-spoken sisters."

Gates runs her tongue over her top lip as she debates how to play. "Then why did you marry me?"

Luther smiles, his wide grin stretching across his narrow face and giving him that vaguely cartoonish appearance that's so uniquely him. "Pygmalion. Wanted to see if I could reform you. I'm still trying."

Victoria swats his leg. She briefly considers putting aside the files for the night, but Luther's already pushing off the desk.

"Don't stay up too late. Or all those officers at your new precinct will figure out that Iron Gates becomes Creaky Gates if she doesn't get enough sleep." With one more teasing smile, Luther escapes her office before she can retaliate, closing the door behind him.

Looking down at the files, Victoria's thoughts stray to that other intelligent, well-spoken sister. It takes her a moment to recall her name. Evelyn. Those few times they crossed paths, Victoria remembers that Evelyn and Roy seemed as happy and well matched as she and Luther.

Victoria can't imagine her life without Luther. Can't imagine coming home and not having his corny jokes or his too-wide smile or how he raises an eyebrow at her and it means a hundred different things. Can't imagine not planning for the next big vacation or listening to him expound on the latest article he read that caught his interest.

Gates wonders how Evelyn Montgomery is coping. She wishes she knew the woman well enough to call her and offer something more than meaningless platitudes.

Opening the file, Gates begins to read. On the yellow legal pad close at hand, she takes notes, draws arrows, and makes a mess of the page as she goes.

Victoria Gates thrives on organization. Thrives on order in her life in all sorts of ways. The exception is her case notes, which usually end as a labyrinth series of words and arrows and lists that only she can navigate. Very few people ever see her raw notes, because her chaotic scribblings feel private. They aren't the impression she wants to give to the world.

By the time she finishes going through the notes on Montgomery's death, Gates has filled two pages. And she knows, without a doubt, that the story on those pages, meticulous as it is, is a fiction. Her years in Internal Affairs have imbibed her with the skill to find the holes and half-truths in even the most ordinary of reports.

Roy Montgomery's death has a story different than the one told. That in itself does not automatically translate into something bad. That was something that took Gates a while to learn when she started in IA: omissions and fabrications do not always equate to criminal cover-ups or dereliction of duty. Sometimes they're done with the best of intentions or in the name of a moral authority above the NYPD Regs. Gates prefers the truth, but she's never had much interest in pursuing harmless falsehoods.

That's not what's going on with Montgomery's case.

The alterations are expertly done. Most people would read the report and statements and notice nothing amiss. If Gates were to guess, she'd say Richard Castle has something to do with the fluency of the lies. He hardly acted alone, though, and Gates easily surmises the identities of his accomplices.

After ten days, Detectives Ryan and Esposito have impressed her. They're good detectives, as is the rest of the team at the 12th. Gates is pleased that she's not going to have to immediately institute staffing changes after all of the other upheaval that's recently beset the precinct.

Likewise, she's now read and heard enough about Katherine Beckett to come to the conclusion that's she just as impressive, if not more so, than her colleagues. Gates even took the time to compare her and Beckett's records, and she's both thrilled and envious that Beckett bested her age at promotion to detective.

Ryan, Esposito, and Beckett are all good detectives committed to justice. Gates is pretty good at reading cops, at knowing the good ones from the bad ones, and she likes the homicide team at the 12th. They're a credit to Montgomery.

In general, good cops don't falsify reports without reason. Whatever they're attempting to hide, Gates is pretty sure it's big and isn't due to corruption or poor performance. Maybe it's as simple as protecting Montgomery and showing him in the most heroic light.

But Gates's gut instinct says it's more than that.

She reads the report again. She again marvels at how well it's crafted. Ninety-nine percent of the force would likely read it and not notice anything amiss.

Victoria Gates is not part of that 99 percent.

Turning to the file on Detective Beckett's shooting, the scarcity of actual evidence alarms Gates. Over a hundred cops in a cemetery and somehow the shooter escapes. It makes Gates's blood boil.

The file has too little information. Even with no definitive leads, a case with weeks of work should have a bigger paper trail.

One file filled with fictions. Another thin with omission. It deepens Gates's belief that the two are connected, that the evidence uniting them has been carefully scrubbed.

This shouldn't excite her. It should anger her, have her pulling out all of her IA tricks and getting to the bottom of it.

For now, though, she's going off her gut. Her gut says there are reasonable explanations for the cover up, that the cops involved did so to protect the NYPD and not to diminish it. For now, that's enough.

This decision to wait and see does nothing to lessen her curiosity at the possibility of a mystery in her new precinct. Because her gut tells her something else too: eventually, she will be in on the secret.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the continued support! A special thanks to guest reviewers since I'm unable to thank them individually. Posting will resume as normal from here on out. I hope everyone continues to enjoy this spin on Captain Gates.


	4. Chapter 4

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 4

* * *

"I hope I'm not interrupting, Detective."

Kevin Ryan's head jerks up in surprise. He had been staring blankly at the espresso machine when Gates walked into the break room.

"Captain, sorry, I didn't see you there." Detective Ryan straightens, runs a nervous hand down his slim-cut baby blue shirt. The man has at least jettisoned his vests for the time being. Gates was beginning to worry he would wear a sweater vest to work even when it was 95 and muggy.

"No need to apologize, Detective." Gates waves a dismissive hand even as she hesitates. She came here precisely because Detective Ryan was alone. The floor is surprisingly quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. The lull, combined with his location, provided her with the opportunity she's wanted. The coming minutes need to be casual, and it's to her advantage to make it initially appear that she's here for something other than conversation. Her mind fails to supply her with an easy activity.

"Can I make you a drink, sir?" Ryan asks with a nod to the espresso machine.

Unlike everyone else on the floor, Gates isn't in the habit of making a latte for herself. Other than her morning cup of coffee, she prefers tea, preferably iced, preferably with a lot of sugar, otherwise she'll be sliding back to the soda habit she finally broke four years ago. She's familiar enough with the machine, however, to notice it's not currently in use. Ryan was simply staring at it before she came in. She wonders if the offer is his own way of appearing busy.

"Sure, Detective. Do you have a specialty?"

The right corner of his lip drifts upward. "You name it, I can make it, Captain. I worked as a barista in college."

"You don't say?"

"Yeah. So what'll it be?" In a single motion, Ryan pulls down the portafilter and rinses the inside with the machine's hot water.

Gates has seen Ryan putter around the espresso machine dozens of times, but she never before paid attention to the details. With this new information, she notices the expertise and familiarity in his movements. "Surprise me."

Ryan thinks before nodding. "Ok."

Gates slides onto one of the stools. She wants to stand next to him and watch, but she's forever aware of her position in this building, a position that often – and understandably – results in people thinking she's hovering.

"I'd actually been debating getting an espresso machine for my apartment when Castle bought this for the precinct," Ryan says after a moment, and his casual, conversational tone isn't one he's often directed towards Gates. "I'm picky about my coffee, and most baristas anymore aren't really trained. Plus, I like making them. When Castle bought this for the precinct, I think I spent the first month finding reasons to come in here and play around with it."

"It is a nice machine," Gates says. Given that espresso machines aren't standard to NYPD offices, it had taken all of two days after Gates arrived at the 12th for her to ask about homicide's luxurious amenity. Her first thought upon learning that the espresso machine was a gift from the recently booted Richard Castle was that it was good she wasn't much for espresso. Considering the glares several members of the team directed at her after that unexpectedly dramatic entrance, her using the machine gifted by the precinct's pet writer would have been too close to hypocritical for Gates's taste.

"Nice?" Ryan makes a noise of disbelief. "I think this thing cost more than I make in two months."

"Probably good you didn't have to save your pennies to buy it for your apartment then," Gates says dryly.

"Much better. Plus, I don't think Jenny'd be willing to part with the counter space." With understated flourish, Ryan pours steamed milk into two porcelain cups before carrying them over to Gates.

"Just a standard latte. I like the classics," Ryan says as he sits across from Gates.

"Same here." Gates takes the offered cup and salutes the detective in thanks before taking a sip.

Goodness. If every latte tasted like this, she would never drink anything else. The milk is light and creamy – not foamy, but almost whipped – and the dark acidic notes of the coffee bounce off an unexpected sweetness. "I thought you said this was a regular latte?"

"It is, but I put a cube of raw sugar in yours." Ryan pauses, hesitant. "You always get sweetened iced tea, so – "

"Detective, I am not exaggerating when I say this is the best latte I've ever tasted. If you weren't so good at your job, I'd say you missed your calling."

Ryan snorts. "Certainly haven't felt like that the past week."

The opening is perfect. "What you did was very brave."

Ryan's eyebrows rise as he looks away. "Yeah, well, I feel like the class tattletale."

"But isn't that bravery?" Gates asks. "Doing what you know is the right thing even when everyone tells you you're wrong?"

"No offense, Captain, but I broke my partners' trust. I went behind their backs – "

"You saved their lives." Gates makes sure there's not an inch of give in her words. "You saw the danger, and you did the only thing you could to protect them. You wouldn't hesitate to pull your gun if the situation required it. Calling for back up – informing a superior officer of a potentially dangerous situation – it's all part of the same spectrum."

"Javi's not taking my calls."

Gates is still angry at the currently suspended detectives. She expects more – much, much more – from Esposito and Beckett. She's frustrated that they think she doesn't know something is going on, that they're hiding information from her. Right now they don't make her think of the best of NYPD. They make her think of children who deny knowing why the cookie jar is empty even when they have crumbs on their hands and smears of chocolate around their mouths.

"Did it ever occur to you that it's because he knows you're right?" Ryan looks ready to protest, so Gates forges ahead. "And even if he doesn't, would you change what you did?"

"No." There's not even a moment of hesitation.

"You and I both know that if you hadn't acted, there's a good chance at least one of them would be dead now. Beckett was seconds from falling off that roof."

Ryan looks down into his latte. His jaw tightens, the tendons and muscles pulling the skin on his jawline taut. "I don't like that they put me in that position. I shouldn't have had to be the bad guy in this."

"And I go back to my original point, detective: You are not and never were the bad guy. You did the right thing, the smart thing, and that, in my book, is the definition of bravery."

"Yeah, well, doesn't feel that way to me."

Gates takes another slow sip of her latte. "You know what my training officer once told me?"

Ryan looks up, his eyes clouded in confusion. "What?"

"That if you ever have to pick between your boss thinking you're doing a good job and you thinking you're doing a good job, always pick your boss, because you can't fire yourself."

Ryan snorts as two uniforms walk into the break room. The four exchange a few brief words before Gates stands. "I have to get ready for a conference call. Detective, thank you for the latte."

"Anytime, sir." Ryan stands as well. Before Gates can protest, he picks up both empty cups from the table. "And thank you, sir. I mean it."

"As do I, Detective." Nodding to him, Gates exits the break room and heads for her office.

She wishes she felt comfortable telling Ryan the whole truth: that, when she was at his point in her career, she likely wouldn't have had the strength of character to speak up like he did. She would have hoped everything would turn out for the best and stayed quiet. She respects Ryan all the more for being brave when she would have faltered.

And she hopes, with time, that Esposito and Beckett's anger will turn to gratitude. That they'll recognize Ryan's coming to her as an act of loyalty and not betrayal.

For now, though, Gates's phone rings. With a crisp "Victoria Gates," she answers and returns to the bureaucratic details of running a precinct.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the continued reviews and support. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who enjoys the character of Gates. I did want to mention that, regarding Gates and Ryan's caffeine preferences, I possibly took liberties. Much as I love accuracy, I didn't want to rewatch the entire series just to see who drank what when or who made an offhand reference to their beverage of choice during Act 2 of Episode X. In short: my apologies for any mistakes.


	5. Chapter 5

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 5

* * *

Gates knows when Castle and Beckett finally give in to their attraction. From the first moment she sees them in that half-renovated building, she can tell that they're different around each other. Even standing next to each other, not touching, there's a difference in their energy, in how they interact.

It bothers Gates that Ryan and Esposito seem so oblivious to the change. They're detectives, after all, and they should detect. To give them the benefit of the doubt: they're close enough to Beckett and Castle that it might be hard to see the change.

Gates, though, has enough distance. Over the past months, she's watched the writer and detective with interest. Luther teases her about her new favorite soap opera, jokes about her favorite couple and how Ashley and Stone can't hold a candle next to them.

Her interest pinged a few months in her tenure at the 12th. The day Detective Beckett dragged Castle into her new captain's office and demanded his return to the 12th first tipped off Gates to the complicated relationship between the two. That day gave Gates a missing piece to her first meeting with Richard Castle: he was desperately in love with Katherine Beckett. In retrospect, it's easy to see that he was a heartbroken man that day, reeling after watching the woman he loves almost die.

Gates still found him annoying – still does, in fact – but she could sympathize with him. Five years ago, she was a wreck for days after Luther passed out from a serious kidney infection, and at no point was his life in danger.

As for Detective Beckett, it was her one-upmanship to force Castle's return that hinted at the depth of the woman's emotions. Beckett and Castle left Gates's office with the captain convinced they were already together, that Montgomery had sanctioned it.

Gates planned on plausible deniability. Like learning how to play the political game, plausible deniability is another skill that Gates finds mandatory to surviving in the NYPD.

She didn't want to know, but she continued to watch. It slowly became clear that they weren't together. It initially relieved Gates, because Kate Beckett could do better than the writer.

But it tugged at Victoria. She wondered how she could have misread the situation until Luther pointed out that unrequited love isn't simply a plot device in novels.

After Luther' insight – and boy did he enjoy saying 'I told you so' – all of the small interactions between the writer and detective made sense. They were in love, afraid to act on it, and caught in a frozen moment where they were together but not. The writer's devotion to Beckett, his appreciation for her, endeared Castle to Gates in a way nothing else could.

After all, any man who appreciated Kate Beckett beyond her good looks couldn't be all bad.

It was after Detective Beckett went against Captain Gates to pursue a suspect and almost ended up falling off a roof – when Gates discovered just how angry she could get at one of her own – that something changed. When Gates next saw the two of them together following Beckett's fit-of-pique resignation, it took all of five seconds for Gates to know their love was no longer unrequited.

Beckett and Castle are good at the precinct, the height of discretion. If anything, they're less obvious now than they were before they got together. Perhaps it's the comfort between them now, a relaxation that warms Victoria's Gates sometimes-cynical heart.

There was that ill-advised moment when the camera crew was hanging around the precinct. Gates feels like she should be angry with them for such a stupid move, but when she reviewed the tapes from those days, it occurred to her that everyone acted like an idiot that week, herself included.

On this particular evening, Victoria comes home carrying a dozen red roses. She hasn't even closed the front door when Luther comes out into the entry.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he says after a brief kiss.

"Happy Dionysus Day," Victoria says with a tilt of her mouth. "For you."

Victoria hands him the roses and, as he always does, he chuckles. "Thank you. Your gift is in the kitchen."

A very pricey bottle of wine sits on the counter, an exquisite bow tied around its neck. When she gets closer, she recognizes the label. Shocked, Victoria picks it up to examine it more closely. There are a few small changes to the label, but it is mostly the same as that first bottle. "Where did you – "

"Small wine shop over in Williamsburg. Turns out those hipsters are good for something after all." Luther is smug in his triumph. As he should be.

Victoria continues to inspect the label. It's from the same winery as that first bottle of wine that started this whole tradition. It's the bottle of wine that started Victoria buying the flowers and Luther buying the wine every Valentine's Day.

"Full circle." Luther wraps an arm around her waist.

Victoria leans into his loose embrace. "Full circle? Does that mean we're at an end?"

Luther chuckles. "Maybe a new beginning."

"Shame it's only the second best gift I've received today."

Luther scowls. "Second best gift?"

"Oh yes. You see, I also got a gorgeous pair of sapphire earrings today."

For once, Luther looks unsure. Good. As her mother likes to say, letting a husband know other men still find his wife desirable is not the worst thing in the world. After all, everyone likes knowing they have something of value.

"Mmhmm. From Richard Castle."

"And why in the world is Richard Castle buying you jewelry when he's desperately in love with Detective Beckett?"

"Because the man isn't very good at differentiating women's suit coats."

Luther chuckles. "Not quite the Valentine's Day surprise he had in mind."

"Oh no," Victoria says in a cross between a chuckle and an exhalation. "Thank God he didn't put her name on the note."

"Shame you had to give back the earrings. Blue always looks good on you."

"Who said I gave back the earrings?"

Luther kisses the corner of her jaw. "Well if you didn't, I expect to see them at dinner tonight. They'll match well with the restaurant."

Victoria turns and wraps her arms around his neck. "Oh no. I've already got my valentine, and he's better than any old pair of earrings."

Because that's something else her mother likes to say: a good marriage is built on compliments.

Luther kisses her gently. "I have to put the flowers in a vase."

Leaning against the counter, Victoria watches Luther cut the flowers before dropping them into the Waterford vase they bought eleven years ago when he had a conference in Dublin. Luther has a green thumb and spent two years as a florist's assistant when he was in college. Under his watch, those roses will likely still be sitting on the counter and blooming come March.

Victoria has her own thoughts on what makes for a good marriage: namely, find a man who is in touch with his emotions, loves his job, knows how to arrange flowers, and smiles with pride at his wife's every professional success.

Victoria Gates has survived decades at a difficult job, years delving into the dredges of the NYPD, because she's a romantic in her bones. As a child, she was a sucker for true love and soul mates and once-in-a-lifetime romances. Her marriage to Luther has only reaffirmed that belief. His loves gives her the optimism to believe in the best of humanity. That power, that grace, allows her to face the monsters in their darkness and reemerge into the light with her faith in humanity intact.

"So what do you think he'll get her instead?"

"No idea," Victoria says. "But I hope he tells her about the mistaken blazers."

Luther chuckles. "He should. Sounds like the sort of story they'll laugh about for years. One of those stories that they never tire of telling, that becomes more comfortable and richer over the years."

"Like the story of why I buy you roses and you buy me wine?"

"Just like that." Luther fusses with the flowers now, arranges them one by one.

"I hope they have a good Valentine's Day."

Luther glances up from the flowers. "Says the woman who once called it a ridiculous holiday."

"It is ridiculous. But it's also wonderful."

She and Luther share a smile before his attention returns to the flowers. Observing the love of her life, she thinks of the young couple and hopes they have the sort of Valentine's Day they deserve.

Watching Castle and Beckett together over the past months, Victoria Gates daily celebrates the power of love even as she looks the other way. Plausible deniability, after all.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** In some areas of the Balkan Peninsula, February 14 is traditionally a celebration of wine and Dionysus rather than St. Valentine's Day. I lifted parts of that celebration for this section, which I hope everyone enjoyed. Thanks for the continued support!


	6. Chapter 6

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 6

 _Please note rating change due to some adult language for characterization purposes_

* * *

"What is this? NYPD's affirmative action team?"

Gates looks over from where she's talking quietly with Detective Beckett and Dr. Parrish. At the entrance to the morgue, Officer Diawara stands next to a blustery, heavyset man. The man has the fuzzy, bloated look of a long-time alcoholic. Gates's years as with the NYPD have made her wary of men like him, because they tend to be irrational, quick to anger, and dismissive of women, especially women in positions of authority.

She wants to be wrong about him. All the same, she's on guard.

"This is James George. He's come to identify the body," Officer Diawara says. Diawara, only a couple of months out of the academy, wears a wide-eyed, dazed look that has Gates quickly dismissing him. Much as she likes Diawara, the kid's wet behind the ears and not yet possessed of the experience to deal with a possibly belligerent alcoholic come to identify a body.

Gates steps forward and extends a hand. "Mr. George, thank you for coming down. I know this can't be – "

"Did the fucker finally off himself? Because if this is some sort of joke, I'm suing the NYPD for intentional inflection of emotional distress." George hits each syllable of the legal term hard, as if daring them to do exactly that. It's never good when someone begins by trying to pick a fight.

Gates has dealt with reactions other than sadness at body identifications, but the lack of sadness never fails to shock her, sometimes even more than the crime itself. "Not a joke at all, Mr. George. This is Detective Beckett. She was the investigating detective on the scene."

James George looks the willowy detective up and down. There's a lecherous gleam in his eye that makes Gates glad Castle isn't around. Beckett quickly clears her throat and steps forward. "We're not yet closing the investigation, but at this time, it does appear that your brother committed suicide."

George's eyes move briefly off of Beckett to the body on the table. "How'd he do it?"

"We don't have a final report, but my initial examination indicates a combination of pills and cutting of his wrists," Doctor Parrish says calmly. "I won't know for sure until we run tox screens, but – "

George laughs. "Fucker finally did it right. You know this is the sixth time he's tried to kill himself? Idiot couldn't even do that right, so you can see it's not much of a loss."

Gates does not look at the other women. If she does, she'll lose her poker face. She half wants to check the room for hidden cameras. This whole situation feels like a set up that ends with someone bursting through the doors to laugh at the three gullible women who fell for such an obvious prank.

Beckett nods slightly. "That information will of course be relevant to our investigation – "

"Investigation?" George snorts. "Listen, Detective Barbie – "

"Beckett." There's an undercurrent of ice in Beckett's tone that usually trips up suspects or at least makes them pause.

"You don't need to do an investigation. My brother was a loser. You heard of King Midas? Danny was the opposite of that. Anything he touched turned to shit. It took him six times to off himself! Nobody needed to kill him. They just had to wait long enough for him to figure it out. Plus, Danny's not lucky enough to have someone else do the dirty work for him."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. George. All the same, NYPD policy – "

"Oh, for fuck's sake." George rubs his forehead. "Lady, he killed himself. End of story. Now, looking at you, I've gotta think you don't have to do a lot of thinking. You just gotta bat your eyelashes to get what you want, and I'm sure NYPD loves putting the pretty lady detective in all their ads." George holds up his hands. "Fine by me. You do what you gotta do in this world. All I'm trying to do is save you time. Appreciate the tip and move on. It's a suicide. Case closed."

Gates fights her instinct to interrupt. He has no right to talk to one of her people like that, but she holds her tongue. Kate Beckett can manage. She doesn't need her boss to swoop in and intercede.

"You seem awfully insistent that it's a suicide, Mr. George. Maybe we should be investigating you." Beckett's voice has a tone that's familiar to those who know her well. She's toying with the man, much like a cat plays with its prey before landing the final blow.

James George shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "For what? Having a dumbass brother?"

"For murder." Kate hits the second word hard, drags it out to drive home her point. "Most family members want answers at this time, Mr. George, and whatever closure they can get."

"I don't need closure. The idiot's been trying to off himself for years."

"If that's the case, I might ask why you didn't help your brother seek treatment." Beckett's voice is sharp as a dagger. This is why Gates enjoys watching Beckett in the interrogation room: there are few detectives in the NYPD better at using their voices to get what they want. In a five-minute span, Beckett can use it as a weapon or to sooth.

"Lady, if I had my brother's life, I'd have killed myself too." George crosses his arms, casts a disdainful look down at his brother's body before giving Beckett a patronizing look. "Do what you want to do, Barbie. Probably a reason they didn't assign a real detective to this case."

"If you want to see a real detective, Mr. George, there's an interrogation room with your name on it. We'll start with your alibi." Kate takes a step toward him. In her four-inch heels, she's slightly taller than the man. Even with his significantly higher weight, he's no match to the lithe detective.

George's face contorts. "Listen, you bitch – "

That's the line for Gates. She steps in between the two. "Mr. George, I will not have anyone use that tone or that word when speaking with one of my detectives. I do apologize for your loss, but Detective Beckett is within her responsibilities as an NYPD detective in asking these questions."

There's a moment of loaded silence. Gates can't get a read on George, can't predict how he's going to react.

Finally, he shakes his head and gives them a belittling smile. "Geez, ladies, no need to get so emotional. Anyway, that's my idiot brother." He looks at Beckett. "Now, you need anything else, or you want to continue hassling a bereaved relation?"

George's voice drips with heavy sarcasm. Beckett glares at him, and Gates imagines the woman is cycling through ways to haul the guy into interrogation or hold him for 24 hours and make his life miserable.

"That will be all for now, Mr. George," Gates says. "Again, we're sorry for your loss."

"Yeah, well, have someone who actually knows what he's doing call me if he needs anything else."

With that, James George spins on his heel and leaves. Beckett takes a step, but Gates puts her hand on the detective's arm. "Not worth it, Detective."

"But sir – "

"Kate, you and I both know this is almost definitely a suicide," Dr. Parrish says quietly. "And that everyone deals with grief in their own way. He may very well be in denial." And then, more quietly, "Doesn't mean he's not an ass."

Gates snorts. It's been a long week. She's tired and still taken aback at how much of an ass James George is. "In your gut, Detective, do you think this is a homicide?"

Beckett continues to stares at the door. "No."

"Then let it go. He's not worth it. You and I both know you can't convince men like that to listen," Gates says, forcing her voice to be unnaturally calm. She recognizes the killer look in the detective's eye. The best thing she can do as a captain right now is calm the detective. Gates looks over at the medical examiner. "Doctor Parrish, is there anything else?"

The doctor shakes her head. "No. I'll let you know once I have the results."

"Thank you. Have a good evening, Doctor Parrish," Gates says. Her hand still on Beckett's arm, she guides the younger woman to the door.

Once in the hallway, Gates changes the topic. "Have you heard from Detectives Ryan or Esposito?"

Shortly before lunch, both men went down with a nasty strain of the stomach flu that has hit the homicide floor hard this week. It's why Gates is more involved with this case than her norm: homicide is that short staffed.

"Not from Espo, but Jenny called earlier to say her doctor advised her to decamp to her parents' house until Ryan's no longer contagious."

"Probably a good precaution given her pregnancy. And Mr. Castle is well?"

"So far." Beckett shakes her head and her long ponytail slides against her back. "I think he bought out the immune booster section of the pharmacy down the street from his place. He said he'll see me again once he's positive I'm no longer contagious."

Castle missed the start of epidemic due to commitments for his actual job. As he's scheduled to spend all of next week at a high school as their writer in residence, he's avoided the precinct this week like, well, the plague. When he had to drop something off yesterday, he arrived wearing a surgical mask.

Gates told him to knock it off with the theatrics, even if she does wish she could get away with wearing a mask this week. Have to keep up appearances, after all, and people knowing that she respects Richard Castle's paranoia about missing a week of working with a bunch of at-risk high school students would sully the Iron Gates reputation.

"Sounds familiar. Luther's been very politely avoiding me at home."

"Yeah, I don't think Martha's too upset I'm at my place this week." As Gates expected, out of the heat of the moment, Beckett is relaxing, letting go of her frustration at James George.

"Have you finished moving back in?" Gates asks.

"Yes." There's a pause. "Finally. Castle not wanting to see me this week has had one upside, because otherwise he closely examines each item in every box and either asks about the story behind it or makes one up."

Gates chuckles. "He is very curious."

Beckett makes a noise of agreement. "Curious or aggravating. It's a fine line."

"It's nice to have you back in New York." The 12th didn't feel the same without Beckett, and Gates is thrilled the Attorney General's Office didn't appreciate the prize they had in their hands. If she could, Gates would give Beckett an accommodation for tipping off the press. That's the sort of ballsy, ethical decision that they don't teach at the academy, mostly because most cops don't have a sense of justice as finely tuned as Kate Beckett.

"I don't know why I let him get to me," Kate says after a moment, and it takes Gates a moment to put the right person with the pronoun. "I know better."

"Sometimes idiocy is hard to ignore. I should have stepped in sooner."

Beckett shakes her head. "No. I'm better than that. I've dealt with cops more unpleasant than that and managed to keep my cool."

"It's the end of a long week, Detective. Write it off as a momentary aberration and move on. People like that thrive off of getting under your skin and staying there," Gates says. "Of course, if you find even a hint of homicide, bring him down for an interrogation. I'd be happy to help."

Beckett finally cracks a smile. "Yes sir."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thanks for the continued support. It's wonderful to know I'm not the only one who will miss Gates.

I chose not to base this scene on a specific episode as I couldn't think of one that would let me build on the relationship between Gates and Beckett as I wanted. I hope no one minded this detour off the canon path.


	7. Chapter 7

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 7

* * *

Six days after the gala celebrating Castle's writing career, Bill Hastings knocks on Gates's door and sits down across from her before she can even say hello.

"Office is a bit of a fish bowl," Bill says. "Why don't you close the damned blinds?"

"I like them open."

"This is where I make a joke about how much you love transparency, right?"

"Luther says it's because of my overwhelming need for attention."

Bill shakes his head. "See, this is why you don't marry a psychiatrist."

"How is Patty?" Gates asks. She and Bill have bonded – many, many times – over the pitfalls of being married to someone who analyzes people for a living.

"Enjoying retirement. In fact, she's convinced me to join her."

"Join her? You?" It makes Gates feel old, the possibility that Bill Hastings might retire.

Bill nods. "You know Claire and her family are down in Charlotte?"

"Her husband's from there, if I remember correctly," Gates says. Claire is Bill and Patty's only child. Despite or perhaps because of her overbearing parents, she's quiet and shy, sedate where her parents are loud.

"Well, Claire just found out that she's not only unexpectedly pregnant but she's having twins."

"Oh my," Victoria says slowly. "Don't they already have three?"

Bill nods with a faint smile. "Three and they were very much done. Kelsey, that's the youngest, she's starting kindergarten in the fall. Claire was planning to get back to work."

"I take it that's going to be put off for another couple of years?"

"And then some. But, well, she's been after Patty and I to move down there for years, and now with the twins, she's told us it's less about wanting us nearby and more about needing us nearby." Bill sighs heavily. "Patty and I talked about it, and much as we love New York, Charlotte's not just got our family going for it, it's a cheaper place to retire to."

"You're really retiring," Victoria repeats.

"Already let 1PP know. My last day is September 1."

"That's not a lot of time." It's been nearly four years since Gates left IA, but she can't imagine those offices without Bill Hastings.

Gates's phone rings. She ignores it. Her gut tells her there's a reason Bill made a trip to tell her this in person, but she's not assuming anything until he actually says it.

"How'd you feel about heading up IA?"

And there it is.

"Pretty sure you don't have the authority to just offer it like that," Gates says as a way to create some space so she can process these many bombshells.

"No, but the job's yours if you want it. Oh, they'll be the normal rigmarole as required by law, but you and I both know heading up IA's not just any position in this city. You've proven yourself, Victoria, time and again. What you've done with the 12th, some of the cases you've helped close, people have noticed."

"I'd have to think about it," Gates says, and she's surprised by her reticence. Heading up the NYPD's IA division is a big deal. She'd be a deputy commissioner. She shouldn't be hesitating. She should be thanking Bill for this opportunity, because she knows he's pulled strings. She should be asking for specifics on what she needs to do to guarantee the position.

Instead she's frozen. Her eyes dart out to the bullpen, and it hits her: She likes it here. She likes her precinct. She likes the people. Likes the dedication and intelligence of this team. If she tried, she couldn't assemble a group of people more to her liking. The idea of leaving this place weighs heavy on her heart.

"Victoria?"

Gates turns back to Bill. His eyebrows are drawn together, and she realizes he's surprised by her reaction. _Not as surprised as I am_ , she wants to tell him, but she settles for the answer he wants to hear: "I'm honored, Bill. But you know I have to talk to Luther about this. If he's on board, then we can talk seriously."

Bill nods and relaxes in his chair. "Of course, of course. Wouldn't expect anything else. Naturally you'd want to discuss it with him first. Big change for both of you."

Victoria is surprised that Bill believes her. Not that she wouldn't talk to Luther about this sort of promotion first – of course she would – but Bill has known Luther for years. As long as they stay within New York City, she and Luther don't stand in the way of each other's professional goals: they're both adults, after all, and capable of making their own decisions.

Victoria and Bill chat about a few inconsequential matters – gossip about the force, some recent policy changes, a new report from the Department of Justice – before Bill says he needs to get back to his office.

"I hope you'll say yes, Victoria. You know how important IA is to me, and there's no one I want running that department more than you." Bill stands, adjusts his pants under his sizable belly. "I trust you, and, well, if anyone has a shot at filling my shoes, it might be you."

Standing, Victoria shoots him an impish smile. "Oh, don't you worry, Bill. If I take that job, I'll have everyone saying 'You know, Gates certainly did clean the place up after the mess Hastings left behind.'"

Bill chuckles, but his eyes appraise her. "Well, let me know once you and Luther talk."

"Will do." Gates watches her old boss leave. She's a grown woman, head of her own precinct, and she feels like a child disappointed at letting a parent down. Bill Hastings recruited her into IA, saw her potential and made transforming that potential into his pet project. He expected her to be excited, that's why he came to tell her in person, and she hates that she let him down with her underwhelmed reaction.

"Captain?" Esposito stands at the door, a file in hand.

"Yes?" Gates keeps a tight rein on her emotions at the precinct, but she finds she can't figure out what her expression was in the moments before Esposito knocked at the door.

"Compiled reports you wanted on the last three cases?" Esposito holds up the files.

"Oh, yes, thank you." Gates extends a hand.

"Was that Bill Hastings?" Esposito asks.

"Yes."

"Should I be worried the Head of IA just paid us a visit?" Esposito asks lightly.

"No, no," Gates says. "Just stopped by to say hello. I worked for him when I was in IA."

"Right." Esposito studies her in a manner remarkably similar to the look Bill just gave her. "You OK?"

Gates nods and hates how unnatural the movement feels. "Fine, fine. Just thinking about how change seems to be in the air."

Esposito snorts. "Yeah. Not going to be the same without Beckett around here."

Gates briefly presses her lips together. "No. No, it won't be."

"Figures, you know? Castle finally back, everything back to how it should be, running smoothly, and then stuff starts changing. Happy for her though." Esposito shakes his head. "Anyway, gotta call over to the 38th. You need anything else?"

"No, no, I'm good, Detective. Thanks for the files."

"Anytime, Cap," Esposito says before he disappears out into the bullpen.

Gates watches him pick up his phone to place a call. Of the homicide detectives, she's closer to Beckett and Ryan. She gets them, relates to them both in a way she doesn't with Esposito. Even after four years, Esposito remains something of an enigma to her, and, if she had to guess, she'd say he feels similarly about her. His inherent distrust of authority figures combined with a distaste of IA – understandable after the Holliwell affair – keeps them on professional terms.

But he's a good cop. Loyal. As Bill Hastings once told Victoria: _The question isn't if you like another cop. The question is, if you ever needed a cop, would you trust that cop to see that justice was done?_

Esposito is the sort of cop Victoria would want on her case. It's why leaving the 12th isn't as simple as it once was. For the first time since she graduated from the academy, she isn't working with one eye trained on the future. She could happily finish out her career here, spending her days with this group for years to come and not minding the routine. Much like marriage, working with good people makes routine a comforting habit rather than a stale pattern.

The elevator opens, and Beckett and Castle step out onto the floor. Whatever Beckett decides about her career, wherever she goes, Castle will follow. Unlike Gates, Beckett still has one eye on the future. Whether Gates wants it or not, change is indeed in the air.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I think my favorite part of this story might be the response to it - thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

Entrances and Exits, Chapter 8

* * *

On her last day in the 12th, Victoria Gates stands inside her empty office. She's just finished a call with 1PP about transfer paperwork. She needs a moment to get her head out of the bureaucracy. She takes a long breath and forces her mind back to the present.

Detectives Esposito and Ryan, with too much help from Richard Castle, have put together an outstanding going-away party. Even officers not scheduled to work have swung by, and a handful of officers and civilian personnel who transferred out of the 12th during her tenure have come by to wish her luck at IA. LT even arranged to have officers from other precincts cover some of the patrols for two hours.

Victoria Gates, Deputy Commissioner, NYPD. Her parents cried when she told them the news. Her Dad shook his head and kept saying how much he wished his father could see this. Elizabeth, who had been in D.C. when the news came down, screamed over the phone. Even Luther's mother has been ecstatic about the promotion, or as ecstatic as she'll ever be about anything her still-not-good-enough-for-my-baby-boy daughter-in-law does.

Gates relishes the coming challenge. She knows how some officers view IA. She doesn't expect to change any of their opinions. She knows the importance of Internal Affairs, and that's what matters. She's humbled by the responsibility on her shoulders.

But.

Somehow over the past four years, she's come to love heading up the 12th. She likes getting to work with good cops regularly, getting wrapped up in the excitement of unfolding cases. She's even – and god help her if she ever admits this to anyone other than Luther – come to appreciate the precinct's odd mascot of Richard Castle.

She wants the challenge of her new position. She just wishes she could bring these people with her.

The 12th's reaction to her departure surprised Gates. After spending the first year feeling like everyone measured her against Montgomery and found her wanting, she settled into being the boss people tolerated and respected but little else. Prior to announcing her departure, she expected generic congratulations and the normal concern over the change of leadership.

She got the congratulations, and she got concern about the change at the top, but not how she expected. People were going to miss her, didn't want her to leave. As Ryan put it one day after bringing her a latte: _We hate losing you, sir, but we'd all feel better if we knew that at least the new captain had your seal of approval._

She promised him she would. Just like Bill Hastings wanted to pass along IA to someone who cares, Gates will make sure her precinct is in good hands. Its people deserve nothing less. Plus, as Luther pointed out over dinner one night: _Won't look good if the Head of IA's old precinct is at the bottom of the barrel._

"Captain?" Kate Beckett stands in the doorway. She's still a detective for now, and in retrospect, Gates wishes she had talked more with the younger woman about the career choices they've both faced in recent weeks.

"Come in, Detective."

As Beckett steps into the room, her fingers intertwine in front of her as she looks down. When she looks back up, there's a rare note of uncertainty in her eyes.

"I, um – " She unlaces her fingers to scratch above her right eyebrow. It's unusual to see Kate Beckett fidgety. "You said once that you hoped to one day earn my loyalty."

"I did." Gates remembers that day. It had been a gamble, a hope to plant seeds that would eventually blossom. Among other things, she hoped it would eventually give her the missing pieces to connect the dots between Montgomery's death and Beckett's shooting and why three top detectives would lie on official police documents.

Gates still has trouble comprehending the truth of it. She had plenty of theories but even the most outlandish fell far short of the reality.

"I just, I wanted you to know that you earned my loyalty a long time ago. I'm honored to be able to say I worked with you. I'm a better detective because of it." Beckett takes a breath, and it surprises Gates to notice that the brunette's eyes are glassy. "You put this precinct back together after Montgomery's death and made it your own. And it took a while – " Kate grins and shakes her head as her eyes look off to the side. " – but this is your precinct, your people. I'm thrilled for you and the NYPD, because we need someone like you heading up IA, but the 12th is getting the short end of the stick."

Gates blinks, once, twice. For only the fourth time in her career, she's in danger of breaking her rule about not crying at work. "Thank you, Kate. You're one of the finest detectives I've ever met, and you made me a better captain."

Unexpectedly, Beckett reaches over and hugs Gates. As Gates returns the hug, she thinks of that angry, wounded woman who stormed into her office four years ago, how her initial impression of Katherine Beckett was that she was held together by twine and tape. Now she's healed, and it's a transformation that reminds Gates of the good in the world, of the possibility of light even in the darkness.

It's a lesson she'll take with her to IA.

"Thank you," Kate whispers as they pull apart.

Gates smiles and pats the taller woman's shoulder. "Let's get back to the party."

As they exit, Gates hazards one more glance at her almost-former office. She still has one last box and her bag, but there's a finality to this moment.

Victoria Gates is excited for the future. She's also scared. She terrified that maybe she's finally throwing herself into something too big, too overwhelming to corral, but that fear means she's doing the right thing.

For now, though, she has a few more hours with these people, and she intends to enjoy it. The 12th Precinct isn't where she wanted to go, but it somehow ended up being what she needed.

As Richard Castle hands his wife and the soon-to-be-former Captain Gates glasses of champagne, Gates looks around the room and thinks:

 _How grateful I am that this ended up being so very good._

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And with that, Captain Victoria Gates rides off into the sunset. I tried to leave this story open ended enough to work with a variety of Season 8 possibilities, but only the premiere will tell if this version of events works within the actual Castle universe. Either way, thanks again - this has been fun.


End file.
